


5 times Bernie proposed (a.k.a. "why won't she marry me?")

by scullysaliens (cophinecloning)



Category: Holby City
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cophinecloning/pseuds/scullysaliens
Summary: Bernie and Serena have a long running joke where they casually say "marry me" to each other – when it comes to Bernie actually proposing, Serena doesn’t realise…





	1. Over text

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first go at writing for Berena (and/or contributing anything of any relevance to the fandom) so I hope I do them justice. Alas, the first chapter is a tame one, but it's gonna get a bit more PG-13 later on, hence the rating. I'm scullysaliens on tumblr too so come and say hi if you want!
> 
> Inspired by http://tea-and-shoelaces.tumblr.com/post/153606480610/lauracylon12-13-how-would-they-celebrate-their and a rambling chat with scepticalscully on tumblr.
> 
> Set about two/three years or so in the future. Somewhat of a canon divergence: the Swedish beanpole is still at Holby. Completely unbeta'd so any typos/mistakes are mine and mine alone!

It had been a grueling shift on AAU: patients from a five car pile-up coming in just after 9am, followed by a patient bleeding out during what should have been an easy surgery, and to top it off there was a mountain of paperwork waiting for Serena on her desk. Today just really wasn’t her day.

Still, she counted the small mercies. The coffee (latte, double shot, extra hot) she’d found perched in their office when she arrived; ‘Sorry, had to run - B x’ scribbled onto a piece of paper placed underneath the red cup. A brightly coloured drawing of the ward family pinned to the nurses’ station, as attended to by all of the Fletchlings (though evidently more so by the youngest, as proven by Raf’s pink hair and the fact that the usual blue scrubs had been redesigned to feature dinosaurs).

Serena sat at her desk, lit warmly by the lamp next to her. Time seemed to move at an almost glacial pace at the end of shifts, with five minutes stretching on for what felt like half an hour. And the red phone could still ring at any moment. What she wouldn't do for Bernie to be here too.  _It’s been sodding 6.45pm for the last ten minutes,_ Serena thought. Files and reports cluttered both of their desks, coffee cups overflowing from the bin – a perfect metaphor for what kept her tiny corner of the NHS running: admin and caffeine.

As 7pm approached, Serena’s phone pinged into life, hailing a new message. _Where is this bloody phone?_ Serena shifted her papers out of the way, eventually finding her mobile wedged somewhere between AAU’s efficiency statistics and a patient file. Bernie had finished her shift some time earlier, having been lumbered with the morning shift but had texted throughout the day with promises of a better evening for them both.

‘Fancy meeting me at Albie’s when you finish? B x’

Serena considers, albeit briefly, sneaking out early and heading down to the bar before she sees Hanssen outside following Morven around the ward. Henrik Hanssen: the tall Swedish shadow of Holby City Hospital, ‘the powers that be’, her looming and assuming boss. _Could I make it,_ she wonders, before he turns towards the office door.

“Ah, nearly sorted for tomorrow I see.” he says, approaching the doorway.

“Yes, yep… Uhm, nearly there Mr. Hanssen,” she shuffles the pages round, “just some beds to free up then I’m off to decidedly less clinical pastures and a decent bottle of wine. Goodness knows I’ve deserved it after today.”

“Very well. Have a nice evening, Ms. Campbell.”

_Definitely wouldn’t make it now._ She fired off a quick reply to Bernie, damning whatever stars had aligned particularly not in her favour today.

‘Day was definitely more than shit. Be there in 20 mins x’. Her phone buzzed almost instantly.

‘I’ll have a bottle of Shiraz uncorked and waiting for you then? B x’

‘Berenice Wolfe. Have I ever told you just how much I love you?’

‘Marry me, Serena.’

* * *

It had started about a year after Bernie had returned from Kyiv - a private joke of brazenly announcing impromptu proposals around the hospital. Of course, it was common knowledge that Serena had a flair for the dramatic as well as an unrivalled wit, but… well, if the hospital rumour mill was going to run on regardless, they might as well grab the opportunity with both hands.

* * *

 

** to be continued (and I promise the next chapter will be longer) **


	2. In the mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie is still trying to work out how to propose to Serena. Mostly set at Albie's and quite frankly it's pure festive Berena fluff with a bit of bonus-office-scene-continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two of the lines are shamelessly borrowed from Last Tango in Halifax because 1. It’s a brilliant + iconic scene, 2. It sounds like something Serena would actually say and 3. It should have happened.

A couple of weeks later and winter had really set in. Snow had already made an appearance, and the weather was regularly below freezing. Between Serena’s almost military effort to enlist everyone in the yearly carol-a-thon, and gaudy decorations springing up all over the hospital wards, Bernie was hard-pressed to ignore the fact Christmas was coming up. She’d managed to escape singing outside by virtue of her complete lack of tune – discovered by Serena when Bernie had led a rendition of ‘happy birthday’ on the ward (or at least attempted to).

Evenings were drawing in earlier and earlier with each passing day, and it had already been dark for a few hours when their shift ended. As they stepped from the warmth and bustle of Pulses and out into the freezing night air, Bernie wrapped her coat and scarf a little tighter, hugging her arms in close to keep out the chill. Catching sight of Serena, however, she let out an involuntary snort.

“I don’t know why you insist on still wearing that, that… thing, Serena,” Bernie eventually mumbled out, “it’s ugly as sin.”

“Well it’s a good job that the face under it is a damn sight better then, isn’t it?” Serena said, a mischievous smile forming and a glint in her eyes.

Walking together to Bernie’s car, so little distance between them that their shoulders bump, they looked a picture of happiness. Bernie’s hand fell down next to Serena’s, knocking it gently before they effortlessly intertwined. Serena’s thumb rubbed absent-minded circles on Bernie’s hand, tender and soft against the biting cold.

It was the easiness of it all that caught them off guard at first. Love had never been a smooth ride for either of them, but anyone could see the rare connection they shared. It was more than a connection though; it was the affinity between them, the intimacy in even the smallest of actions, words spoken in only looks. They shared something that surpassed any manner of definition, in any language, in any time. As Serena had professed in the past, _fondness does not care for rationality_. 

Bernie wrangled the keys to her car out of her pocket with her free hand and unlocked the doors. _It’s a snug car for two people_ , Serena had thought on occasion. _Who sat at their desk and designed this sports car with ‘oh yes, this will be the perfect runaround car for two top surgeons of a certain age’ in mind?_ Any unsuspecting onlooker to the situation would have assumed that the women had been married for years, returning home and into a familiar domestic routine.

Untangling their fingers, they both ducked into the car and Bernie turned on the ignition. Apparently forgetting the volume they had turned the music to that morning on their drive in to work, they jumped at the sheer wall of noise coming from the speakers.

 _But the very next day_ … “Bernie” … _You gave it away_ … “BERNIE” … _This year_ … “BERNIE CAN YOU TURN THE RADIO” … _To save me from tears_ … “DOWN PLEASE I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK” … _I gave it to someone special_ … ‘THANK YOU.”

The bassy resonance of ‘Last Christmas’ echoing through the car’s sound system had Bernie scrambling for the radio controls, the volume having briefly rendered her unable of remembering how to turn it down.

“I like _Wham!_ as much as the next person,” Serena remarked, “but that felt like we were personally accosted by George Michael himself.”

The music gets turned to a barely audible level and they sat in the car in silence watching their breath appear in front of them. For the fleeting moment they sat shivering in the car park together, they shared a comfortable silence. It stretched on endlessly, but at the same time was intensely intimate. Their hands had gravitated back towards each other and were sharing the small amount of warmth they both retained. Serena’s teeth chattered and she shivered as the car started to warm up slowly.

“You’re not keeping that hat on in the car, are you?”

“It’s cold, Bernie! And besides that... cold ears, warm heart.”

“I don’t think that’s the saying, Serena.”

“Oh shush. Now frankly, I think we both need a drink. Step on it, Major. Albie’s. Quick as you like.”

 

* * *

 

Bernie had been relegated to finding and saving one of the only free two-seater tables while Serena waited at the bar to pick up their drinks. Still, choosing the seat that had its back against the wall, Bernie had an unrestricted view of the brunette. _Good God, I love her_ , she thought.

Serena’s natural magnetism hadn’t only worked on Bernie. She’d lost track of the amount of drinks she’d been offered ‘on the house’ and the amount of numbers slipped to her across tables (although this was now often followed by a feigned stern look and pout from the blonde). Serena’s smile was absolutely captivating; it had always been one of Bernie’s weaknesses – the way it spread from her mouth, lifting her cheeks and came to rest in her eyes.

Bernie’s eyes raked over Serena’s figure as she stood waiting for their glasses of wine to be poured. When occasion called, Serena had never missed an opportunity to dress to the nines in some very becoming outfits and, of course, Bernie was awe-struck by her. But there was something different about the blouses she wore about the ward day-to-day that represented an integral and endearing part of her personality. _Functional, yet flattering: the designs that embodied no-nonsense Campbell_.

“Now _this_ ,” Serena said, motioning to the jukebox with one of the glasses of wine as she approached the table, “is Dusty Springfield. ‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me’ if I’m remembering correctly.”

The usual warm ambiance of Albie’s had gradually become more festive and the bar was now decorated with quite a liberal quantity of holly, ivy and other such foliage. The two women sat sipping their drinks, exchanging how their days had been, and eventually the conversation turned to when Bernie had first returned from Kyiv. The conversation had been difficult at first, but over time the raw feelings had fallen away and given way to discussions that brought the women closer than ever before.

“Do you remember that? Snogging in our office?” Bernie offered, nodding to the nearby sprig of mistletoe.

Serena leant forward. “That was more than a snog pal, I had my hand inside your bra.”

Bernie felt a blush creep up from her chest at the thought, and in fact, at the recollection of the whole office dalliance. 

 _Serena made quick work of Bernie’s hair tie and hurried to entangle her hands in her blonde curls. “Bernie – I, oh” breathy against her neck, Serena uttered her name like a benediction. Struggling to keep upright, Bernie nudged Serena back to the cabinet and steadied herself with her hands against Serena’s waist. Serena pushed her lips against Bernie’s again, hungry and searching – ‘to hell with hospital policy’ she thought. Her hands moved from Bernie’s head and trailed up Bernie’s torso under her scrub top. A knock at the door startled them both and they pulled apart, flushed and breathless._  

“Poor Fletch. He was a bit caught in the crossfire, wasn’t he?”

Bernie took a sip from the wine glass in her hand, her elbow gently knocking at a bump in her jacket pocket.

 _Oh shit._ Bernie had forgotten all about that. _‘Oh shit’ indeed._

 

> **_A few hours earlier:_ **
> 
> ‘Dr. Copeland do you fancy getting some fresh air?’
> 
> ‘Be with u in five’
> 
>  
> 
> Bernie sat on the roof with a tiny velvet box in her hand. She’d gone over the scene so many times in her head: what to say, Serena’s reaction - hell, whether Serena would actually say ‘yes’ or not. She shifted the box between her fingers, in and out of her scrub pockets and eventually sat it on her knees, staring at it intently. So intently, however, that she didn’t hear the roof door opening.
> 
> “Oh, Ms. Wolfe, you shouldn’t have.” Dom quipped.
> 
> “Dom!” Bernie started. “Dom, I, uh… I wanted you to be the first to know. Um, you’ve helped me a lot actually and, um, well…”
> 
> “You’ve decided to finally pop the question?”
> 
> “Yes. I, uh,” she exhales, “I could do with some help.”
> 
> _Serena, marry me?_ She’d practiced proposing in front of the mirror at least twenty times before her shift started. _Marry me, Serena?_ Bernie decided she would at no point drop onto one knee to propose to Serena, following a rather painful realisation around 8am: her back would allow her down to the floor but not, it seemed, back up again. _Serena, would you do me the honour of being my wife?_ She’d drafted what she’d say to Serena, but nothing had sounded right and she’d stuffed the evidence in her desk drawer before swiftly locking it and heading back out to the ward.
> 
> “I’m being paged,” said Dom dejectedly, as he looked up at Bernie, “but leave it with me. Congratulations!”

 

Bernie’s face dropped for a moment in panic, before she recomposed herself and smiled reassuringly at Serena. Not quickly enough though.

“Oh come on, you’re not still embarrassed about what Fletch thought, are you? No - come on Bernie. Out with it.”

“I don’t suppose you’d buy the idea that I was considering relocating to Ukraine again?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I find it much easier to write in Bernie’s headspace than Serena’s but let me know if it read any different. Also I promise promise promise I wrote the bit about Bernie knocking Serena’s hand to hold hands before last Tuesday’s episode (my first and only act of clairvoyance).


End file.
